


Continue

by Hillena



Series: creative juices [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:11:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hillena/pseuds/Hillena





	Continue

He had a lovely meeting with his bedroom floor at 6.19 in the morning.  _Another nightmare_ , he told himself,  _just another nightmare_. He went downstairs and into the kitchen for some tea. He always took brisk tea after waking up at an ungodly time of the day, especially after his usual nightly appointments with his nightmares.

He stared down at his mug he was unconsciously clutching.  _What if I hadn’t met Stamford at the park, he thought, What if I found a flat somewhere in Brixton with a boring flatmate, and an incessant landlord? Was a boring flatmate possible or even exist?_  He let out a choked laugh,  _What if I accepted Harry’s offer and stayed at her flat?  Would I have met Sheryl ‘Married to my work’ Holmes?_  Such questions, so little answers.

After he finished his tea, he put it into the sink and sat back on the stool, his head pressed against the table, his arms draped over his head and drifted off to sleep. Just a kip.  _I’ll wake up when it’s seven._

He dreamed. He dreamed of her. But it wasn’t a pretty sight.

He was tending to the other patients. One with a bullet through the stomach, three with hay fever, and all the other were already patched up and just taking off stitches. He turned around to replace Ofiana’s bandage when he watched Corporal Blackwood bring her into the tent, his body armour soaked with her blood. She was one of his patients.  _Why now?_  She was losing blood fast. Faster than he could keep track of the others, “Cole, get my shirt,” The Corporal said.

John stared. Captain John Hamish Watson stared at the sight of his best friend bleeding pints of blood in front of him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even avert his eyes.  _My flatmate, my fucking, bleeding flatmate is dying! Do something, Watson!_ His body wasn’t listening. Too stubborn just like her. Private Cole was holding Blackwood’s shirt to the side of her torso to stop the flow of blood, “Doc, do something!” He yelled.

He was paralyzed, glued to the spot, “I… I can’t. It’s just… I…” His words failed to continue.

In turn Cole gave Blackwood the shirt at plug her wound. He held him by the shoulders, shaking him rigorously, “ _Captain_ ,” No response, “Watson, she’s  _dying_ ,”  _Obviously_ , she would have scoffed.

He was shaking, his hands clenching into fists, breathing heavily through his mouth when he suddenly jolted back into reality. He looked around, kitchen, 221b, London,  _Sheryl_ , “Oh god, Sheryl,” He said under his breath. He glanced at the clock, 8.17. He looked back the table, the Daily Mail propped with a cup of tea he didn’t notice when he woke up, “Mrs Hudson,” A small, thankful smile found his lips.

—

It was 10.28 when Sheryl was out of the shower wearing  _his_  jumper.  _His_  favourite, cream coloured jumper over  _her_  underwear. He was even wearing it not just twelve hours ago. And because of her thin physique, plus John’s width, it was as if it was hanging off of her.

John practically spat all over his laptop when she saw her wearing his jumper, “Why are you… Why are wearing  _my_  jumper?” He was already struggling being in love with his flatmate. This situation was just making it worse.

“I couldn’t find  _my_  dressing gown after I had a shower. Your jumper was the most log—” She broke off when she noticed something of him, “Why are you staring at me?” She asked with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, his jumper just above her navel now.

 _Her long, silky hair as it—_  ”I wasn’t,” He denied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to hide his erection.

“Let’s just forget that I even asked,” She waved a hand vaguely. She turned around and got a mug then back at him, “Stand up.”

 _Her soft, cream skin, her beautiful blue gray eyes, her—_ “What?” He was staring again.

“I said, stand up.”

He did as he was told and when he stood up, he was greeted by a tight hug, a smirk formed on her cupid bow lips.

His eyes went wide by her sudden movements, but relaxed to her touch a few seconds after.  _Was this her… Apologizing?_  He played with the ends of her long, slightly wet locks. When he realised his actions, his face went a slight tinge crimson and his heart raced a little faster.

_Oh, fuck. Fuckety fucking fuck._

_She knows._

Then, she let go, leaving John speechless. She turned back to her half-full mug, “Thank you for the final proof, my dear doctor,” She poured more then turned to face him, leaning on the counter top.

“W-What?” Was the only thing he was able to stutter out.

“You’ve sentiment for me for the last two months,” She took a sip from her coffee, “Why me?”

“Because… You’re my best friend.”

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Another gulp, “You are  _exceptionally_ hard for the last few minutes,” She shook her head a small smile on her bright face, “Just waiting for me to go out and have a ‘wank’, as you call it, in your room,” She casually pointed to his groin as he defensively covered it.

Another sip then licked her lips, “Remember when I passed out on the sofa last week?” A slow nod and a shaky breath in response, “You put a hand on my waist and kissed my temple,”  _God, the light sleeper that she was_ , “Just three days ago you were staring at me when I was talking to Lestrade about—”

“Stop making a list of it!” He scowled.

“Proof,” She shrugged.

But it was true, obviously. Everything she had said was true.  _I blew it. I fucking blew it. Just one morning and I lost altogether. Might as well say it,_  ”I love you,” His eyes darting everywhere, trying to focus on something as he tells him that she’s married to her work.

_Surprisingly enough, no._

“And I, you,” Her tone; her tone of voice. She never uses that tone except with Mrs Hudson but never with him. That’s all he needed. It was pure sincerity.  _Complete and utter sincerity_.

“So— You return my sentiment?”

“John,” She gave him a genuine smile. Not one of her smirks or her all-knowing grins but a smile and not only that. Her real smile, “You know I hate it when you state the obvious.”

John didn’t quite understand after their little chat. He knew she loved puzzles, but couldn’t she just drop the act? “ _I mean, I know you’re a detective and all but could you stop being… you for once?”_ He muttered to himself as he tried to practice what to say, “No, that’s… That’s just contradicting her own universal suffrage,”  _I can’t stop being me, John;_  she’d say,  _it’s like telling a heart to stop pumping blood…_ Then she’d start a lecture about how the heart works.

They hadn’t said a word after that. He used Mrs Hudson’s spare bathroom, it was already awkward enough to walk around Sheryl. At least for him, it is.

He pushed his forehead against the cold, hard wall and put the water the hottest it could go, letting the heat seep into his spine, the flesh on his back almost pink, “ _No_ ,” He emphasized, “She’d just playing you, Watson,” He slammed a hand onto the wall, “It’s just an experiment.  _Don’t. Let her. Get. To you,_ ” He forced laugh slipped out of his mouth, “So, stop hoping.”

He shut off the water and dried himself off, “Idiot,” He scolded himself. He buttoned up his shirt and zipped up his fly. When he was out he gave Mrs Hudson a cursory smile-and-nod and walked back up to the flat. When he opened the door, it was a sight even Anderson would have loved to see.

He gave her a once-over. _A very slow_  once-over. She was wearing a white dress shirt, tucked into a dark, navy blue, slightly but intentionally ripped short shorts and it’s the first time she had seen her wear sneakers. Black Leather Jack Parcell. The thing is, her first three buttons were unfastened and she was standing in front of the AC.

His face went red, suppressing the urge to pin her to the wall and shag her senseless. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his eyes locked on her face, “You, erm… Ready?”

She turned around and buttoned up, “Let’s go then,” She went towards him, pulling him by his hand and out the door they went.

When they were outside, she hailed a cab, “John?” Her tone soft and affectionate, “John,” She looked to her right, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

“You said that you loved me,” He was staring at the pavement beneath them, “Why me?” Returning her question.

She took his face in between her hands, “Before you,” A kiss on his forehead, “I was unbearable,” His left temple, “I was chaotic; you are order to me,” His right, “I’m the head,” She tapped her right temple with her right forefinger then her other hand moved atop the left side of his chest, “And you are the heart. My moral compass, my significant other.”

The cabbie almost cried up just watching them, “That’s,” He wiped his eyes, “That’s some girl you’ve got there, mate.”

Sheryl pulled him into the cab before he could protest. The ride to the crime scene was silent, they were sitting on the opposite ends of the cab but their fingers still in the spaces in between their fingers, looking out the window with idiotic smiles painted on their brightly tinted faces.

—

When they arrive at the crime scene, she walked up to Lestrade, their fingers still tightly wound, “What happened?” She asked in her usual bored tone.

“Double murd—” He cut himself off when he saw their intertwined fingers. He fancied her for quite some time now. He cleared his throat and tried not to look at the her, “You, ah, you two a thing now?”

“Just this morning actually, yeah,” He smiled.

“Oh,” He pocketed his hand and the other scratching the back of his neck, “That’s nice,” He turned to nod at Sally, “Double murder, no leads.”

“Hello Sergeant,” A smirk on her cupid bow.

“Oi, freak. Who let you— See you’ve got your boyfriend with you,” She crossed her arms over her chest.

The sleuth wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When she pulled away, she shot a smirk at Donovan, pulling John into the house, the police officers’ and even Anderson’s eyes gaping at the two.

“What the  _bloody_   _hell_  was  _that?!_ ” He scolded.

“What?”

“You were practically  _fucking_ my mouth!”

“You’re very welcome,” She added.

He let out a sigh, “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?” He crouched down, looking at the bodies, “Number one, slit throat clean through. Then his inside probably pulled out from there, I don’t know,” He put his fist just over, but not touching, the large hole, starting a monologue, “Yep, definitely pulled out. Number two, strangulation, maybe asphyxiation,” He finally stood up only to see her sitting on the floor, tears staining cheeks, “What happened?” He sat himself down beside her, “What’s wrong?” He raised Sheryl’s face to look at him with bloodshot eyes.

“Sh-She-Sherry…” She muttered, try hard not to look while slowly pointing to the face full of blood and ginger curls.

“Who’s Sherry?” His tone as if talking to a distraught child. He felt her take his hand, tears fell on the back of his palm.

“M-My half-brother,” But her voice was barely audible.

“Okay, give me whatever you’ve got because I’m—”The Detective Inspector walked into a scene he never thought that one day, God would give him a chance to see, Sheryl Holmes breaking down on the floor, “What happened?”

“Have you identified the ginger?”

“Sherringford Holmes. Chnaged his name to Martin Crieff,” He said, “Airline pilot, no income,” He flipped through his papers, “Nothing more,” He looked up to see an agape John Watson, “What?” He said.

“Sherringford  _Holmes_ ,” He repeated, emphasizing the last word.

“Oh,” He still didn’t understand, “ _Oh!_  I’ll, I’ll get right on this,” He ran out, yelling ‘Donovan!’

Sheryl buried her face in John’s chest, holding him by his lapels, mouthing apologies to Martin as to why she hadn’t protected him better. Why she mocked for ambitiously wanting to become a pilot when he failed seven times, almost an eighth. Why she hadn’t spent more time with him when they were in Uni. Why she couldn’t go to cargo flights and dinners. Why she let Mycroft whisk him away to Fitton for a job that barely pays a better flat, “I’m sorry,” She breathed.

He knew how and what she felt. Was it was to lose someone that meant to you. Someone he would gladly die for. He lost his dear father when he was five or six. He couldn’t remember. He doesn’t want to remember.

_Mum runs through our big, gold field. Why is mum crying? Why is Harry screaming?_

_“Mum, where’s Dad?” I ask innocently._

_Mum doesn’t answer my question, she just runs past me like she didn’t see me there. I still don’t know where Dad was. Maybe he’s working on the tractor!_

_I run to the back of the chicken coop as fast as I could. There was a big sheet covering something in front of the tractor. I tug on Harry’s shirt, “What’s that?” I point to the sheet. She smiles down at me, but it was a smile. It’s like she pities me or something, I don’t know. Aunt Ellie is crying over the sheet, “Harry, what under the sheet?” I ask. She wipes her tears and takes my hand, pulling me out of the scene._

_“What do you want to be when you grow up, Johnny?” She asks as we walk. But I was busy listening to mum’s conversation uncle Collin, “I think it was the military jet fuel he put in before he tried and fix the motor the fumes got to him and…” I didn’t get a better hear because Harry was pulling at my hand a little too fast._

John shook his head, reality taking over. He took her hand and stood up, pulling her close to his chest, “Let’s… Let’s go home.”

 


End file.
